Lay Your Weary Head to Rest
by SingReader
Summary: The brotherly bond he has always relied on is gone and Dean just wants to end it. But he has made so many mistakes, has so many sins to atone for, how can he make up for it? What can he possibly do that will free him from the guilt and allow him to die in peace? And what will Sam do, if he finds out Dean's plans?A spin on the story of Supernatural with an alternate goal and ending.
1. Prologue

Authors Note: Hello everyone! This is my first FanFic, so please help me out and leave reviews, suggestions, or comments. If I get something wrong please feel free to point it out, I can't get better without help.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to the Story of Supernatural or it's characters, that right belongs to Eric Kripke and the WB. I am just barrowing it for a bit to write a story for fun and not for profit. So, enjoy.

**Prologue:**

_Most children put a lot of effort into deciding what they will be when they grow up. They day-dream and fantasize, and role play; changing their mind a hundred and fifty_

times before they even enter high school. Not Dean though. He was but a child when he learned how his life was to be spent; only four when tragedy shattered through a

calm Kansas night and forever made him a kissing-cousin to death. 

_That night smoke rolled, windows exploded, and flames shrieked-shouted-roared. Along the block, lights appeared as neighbors tumbled from their beds and houses to gather_

and gawk.

_Blazing tongues of heat snaked through the house, diving in and out of windows as deep red shadows spilled out into the night, gyrating obscenely on the_

lawn and sidewalk. 

_It seemed as if hell itself had invaded the quiet suburb._

_Amidst the inferno a door opened and a dark form raced out, flames biting at its heels. A small silhouette made its way through the smoke and chaos to the edge of the yard;_

it was Dean Winchester, John and Mary's boy, and he wasn't alone. The gasps and murmuring of the gathered crowd slowly died as the child stopped and turned. Silence

muzzled the night as the young boy stood straight and expressionless, smoke-reddened eyes boring into the flames that were devouring his home.

_Dean paid no attention to his neighbors, he simply stared at the red monster that had already killed his mother and probably his father too. It wasn't the only monster that he_

had seen this night. The yellowed-eyed man that had pinned his mother to the ceiling and made her stomach bleed; _Dean had seen him too. He was the truly evil thing; the_

fire was just a by-product of the demon, a farewell token if you would.

_The flames ate voraciously at the house he had grown up in, destroying everything he had ever known and reducing his family to ashes. But not his entire family, not all of_

them. The young boy stood straighter as his arms tightened around the baby in his arms. Without taking his gaze from the hellish spectacle before him, Dean placed a small

kiss upon his brother's forehead.

_"It's okay Sammy. I'll protect you"_

* * *

__

That promise grew to become both Dean's damnation and his salvation. Although his father, John, didn't die in the fire that night, he might as well have. The man that

survived the blaze and swooped up Dean and Sam off the yard, the man that sat with them in his arms and watched as firefighters removed his wife's body from the rubble;

that man was not Dean's father, at least not the father he had always known. Before that night his father had been funny and loving and patient; after that night he was hard

in a way most people couldn't imagine.

_John became consumed with the need to Hunt; relentlessly tracking down and killing all things evil. The more monsters he killed though, the more his fear for his children_

grew. He became obsessed with teaching his boys to protect themselves, teaching them to use guns, knives, spells, and exorcisms. He constantly trained them, drilled them,

and tested them. The boys' entire lives revolved around the need to be vigilant and ready to fight. School was a hit and miss; a few days here, a few weeks there. Home was

an endless string of hotel rooms or nights spent camping in the car.

_As the oldest, it was Dean's responsibility to hold down the fort and look after Sam whenever his father was out hunting, which was all the time. Every time his dad would_

leave he would run through a checklist with Dean; lock all the doors and windows, stay out of sight, keep all guns loaded, and most important of all….watch out for Sammy.

John was adamant about that; Sam was Dean's responsibility, period. Dean had made a promise to his younger brother the night of the fire and he had better keep it.

Anytime that John thought Dean was failing in his duty he would yell at him, mock him, and call him a failure. John relentlessly used that promise to tear Dean down and

shred his ego, until Dean had no sense of self-worth, no focus other that his brother.

_He learned to cook so that Sammy could eat, to sew so Sammy could have jeans without holes in them, and to hustle pool, so Sammy could have medicine, books, and toys._

He walked around with a pistol in his waistband, a knife in his boot, and holy water in his pocket. He showered with a gun on the sink, ate with a gun on the table, and slept

with a pistol under his pillow and a shotgun next to the bed. By the time Dean was twelve he was a dutiful warrior; a highly trained soldier whose only mission in life was to

protect his brother.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_**Elementary School:**_

"Hurry up Sammy, you're going to be late for school" Dean called out to the closed bathroom door as he finished tying his boots. The door flew open and Sam ran out, hair flying every direction and a spot of toothpaste on his chin. Dean shook his head as he watched his whirlwind of a brother race to the front door, shoelaces flopping off the carpet and jacket forgotten on the table.

"I'm ready Dean. Let's go" Dean tried not to laugh but it was hard, Sammy was just so dang cute.

"Whoa, hold up dude" Sam obediently came to a stop, halting as if he had run into a wall, and looked at his brother with a single raised eyebrow.

"Tie your shoes before you trip, put on your jacket - its cold outside, wipe the toothpaste off your chin, and don't forget your backpack"

Sammy grinned and raised a hand to swipe over his chin before dropping to tie his shoes. Dean grinned back and continued grilling his brother.

"You have your homework in your bag?"

"Yes Dean"

"You're Lunch?'

"Yes Dean."

"Got your knife?"

"Yes Dean."

"Holy water?"

"Yes Dean."

"You going to pass you're math test today?"

Dark brown hair whipped back and a set of sparkling eyes fastened on him

"You bet, I'm going to get an A!"

Dean laughed affectionately as he steered his brother out the door

"Well then, come on Einstein, get the lead out. Schools awaiting"

_**Middle School:**_

"Hurry up Sammy, you're going to be late for school" Dean called out to the closed bedroom door as he slipped Sam's lunch into his backpack. The door flew open and Sam tumbled out into the living room, hair flying in all directions, shirt on backwards, one sock falling off as he tried to stuff his feet in his shoes.

"I'm ready Dean, let's go."

"Whoa, hold up dude"

"What?" Sam muttered as he hopped around trying to get his shoe on.

Dean sighed and shook his head in exasperation

"Pull your socks up, _then_ put your shoes on, it'll work better. And turn your shirt the right way, backwards is **not** a fashion statement."

Sam flashed him a mischievous grin and sat down to pull up his socks as his brother continued to grill him.

"Got your homework?"

"Yes Dean"

"You're Lunch?'

"Yes Dean."

"Got your knife?"

"Yes Dean."

"Holy water?"

"Yes Dean."

"You going to get the number of that cute chick in your math class today?"

Dark brown hair whipped back and a set of sparkling eyes fastened on him

"You bet I am. I'm going to take her to the dance on Friday."

Dean laughed affectionately as he steered his brother out the door

"Well then, come on Romeo, get the lead out. Schools awaiting"

_**High School:**_

"Come on Dean, we're going to be late to school" Sam called as he shoved his books into his bag.

The bathroom door opened and Dean stumbled out, eyes blurry and toothbrush clutched in his hand.

"All right, all right, calm down. I'm coming." Placing the toothbrush back in the bathroom, Dean bent down to tie his boots.

"Hey Sammy, you got you're…"

"Yes Dean, I have my homework, and my lunch, and my knife, and my holy water. I got everything, so let's go already. I've got a test today and I don't want to be late."

Dark blonde hair lifted as a set of sardonic green eyes fastened on Sam's face,

"All right Samantha, don't get your panties in a twist, I'm ready." Sam sighed in vexation and shook his head.

"Jerk."

Dean flipped him a wink, "Bitch."

With a shared smile, the brothers walked out the door,

"Come on Deana, schools a waiting."


	3. Chapter 2

Dean blinked his eyes rapidly, letting the memories fade from his mind. Those times had been so long ago, a lifetime ago. So much had happened since high school; Sammy's dying and his resurrection, Dean's demon deal and trip to hell, the rise and fall of Lucifer, the Leviathans, the fall of the Angels and the closing of Heaven's gates. Dean shook his head sharply; God, their life sounded like a cross between a bad acid trip and a low-budget horror movie.

But it wasn't a bad trip or a cheap flick; it was his past, his present, and probably his future too, if he even had a future after tonight. Dean stood in the rain, head down, chin tilted, as he stared at the cement beneath his feet. The night was silent and still as the two men stared at his motionless form; Castiel with empathy and Sam with anger. They were waiting for his answer, Dean knew they were, but honest to God, he didn't have the strength to speak yet. Inside, his soul was twisting and dying and the agony tearing through him literally took his breath. He needed a moment to gather himself, so they would just have to wait.

This was it, the end of the road. This night, this moment in time; marked the end of everything Dean had ever cared about. He had lost his brother; Sammy hated him now, would never forgive him for what he had done, and really, that was alright, because Dean would never forgive himself either. He had screwed up, bad, and not even an Angel could fix it this time. Fiercely, Dean blinked away the tears that burned his eyes and prepared himself to face what he had done.

Taking a deep breath he slowly lifted his head and focused on the man standing before him. Sammy wasn't Sammy anymore, hadn't been for a long time. He was _Sam _now, an adult who made his own decisions and right now his decision was that Dean should leave…

"Just go. I'm not going to stop you." Sam's face was aged and lined, and gray with weakness. He leaned slightly against the railing behind him, clearly needing the support to keep him upright. Dried blood streaked his face and the softly falling rain peppered his hair. Dean stared hard at him, knowing it was for the last time. This was it, the end of his mission; and he had failed. Choking down the pain that filled his chest, he gave a single short nod and backed up.

"Okay Sam."

There was nothing more to say, so Dean did the only thing he could do; he turned and walked away. For the first and last time in his life, he left his brother behind.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sadness spiked through Castiel's heart as he watched Dean walk away. He opened his mouth, ready to call him back, beg him not to go; they'd work it out…all of them…somehow…

If he would…please,

Just _stay_.

At the last possible moment Castiel snapped his lips closed, choking back his cry; now was not the time. Sam was hurt very bad and needed Castiel to heal him. As his friend slid into his car and drove off in the night, Castiel moved to stand in front of the younger brother, closing his eyes and moving his palm in a slow arc over Sam's forehead. White light pulsed as cuts closed, skin knitted together, and deep puncture wounds filled in, smoothed out, and disappeared. Except for the streaks of dried blood flaking his ashen cheeks, Sam's face showed no signs of the torture he had endured this night.

Moving his hand down, Castiel spread his palm over Sam's belly, sending heat and light deep into the younger man's internal organs; causing Sam to gasp harshly and clench his teeth against the wave of pain. At the harsh sound, Castiel's eyes lifted and his head tilted as he studied the other man. Castiel wanted to yell at Sam, _scream_ at him; about how wrong he was being, how unfair and selfish and downright _**cruel. **_

Dean was his friend. Castiel knew every sacrifice that man had ever made for his brother, every compromise, every deal. Being an Angel, he also knew exactly how much each one had cost Dean's soul. How much the older brother had lost, the price that he had paid, was something that Sam just didn't seem to get, and Castiel wanted so badly to tell Sam; to let him "see" what Castiel saw. But he didn't.

Because Dean wouldn't want Sam to know; and because Sam was hurt and needed time to heal. With a sigh, Castiel pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and, wrapping his arm around Sam's waist he helped the younger man to his car. Castiel would take him back to the bunker and spend the next few days healing him because although he could be incredibly stupid at times, Sam was his friend, too.


	5. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: **Am very sorry for the confusion...am still learning how to upload and format my stories. So the problem with chapter one half repeating is fixed. Sorry for the short chapter (3), but here is a longer on for you. Hope you all likie it. Please read and review...I'll take all the help I can get, so any ideas or advice, let me know. Thanks.

* * *

**Deans POV**

Dean drove, the black impala cutting through the night, windshield wipers working furiously.

You failed, failed, failed….

The words echoed in his head; filling his ears and pounding his brain.

All his life he had only had one job, and he had failed….failed…

Images flashed in his eyes, childhood memories super-imposed over the inky black pavement before him.

Failed…Failed…He had failed so badly!

More memories came, hurling up from the blacktop, one after another, piling in on him…taunting him. Swearing softly, Dean kept driving; the wheels of the impala picking up speed as they propelled him through the night, through his past:

"_Dean" Before the cry had fully left the child's lips Dean was there, gun in hand, planted firmly in front of the small figure huddled on the bed. His eyes were fierce, body alert, as he scanned the motel room, looking for whatever had dared to threaten his brother. Shadows were the only other occupant of the room, and Dean slowly let his shoulders relax. Lowering the gun to his side, he turned to the young boy hiding under the covers._

"_Sammy?" At the sound of the familiar voice, Sam threw off the blanket and stared at Dean._

"_What's wrong Sammy?" Dean's voice was gentle and he felt the fear ebb from his bones._

"_I had a bad dream. Monsters came, and Dad was gone, and then you were gone, and I was all alone." Tears filled his eyes and his shoulders started to shake. Dean put the gun on the nightstand and lifted his brother from the bed. Placing him across his lap, he wrapped his arms around Sammy, and rocked him gently, feeling the shudders that wracked his small body. God, his brother was so young, only five; too young to worry about being left alone. Anger at his father and what his absences were dong to his brother filled Dean; no child should fear being abandoned. _

"_It's okay Sammy, I got you." Sam sniffed and snugged deeper into the thin arms wrapped around him_

"_I'm scared Dean. I don't want to be all alone."_

_Dean pulled back and looked directly into his brothers eyes_

"_You'll never be alone Sammy. As long as I am around, nothing bad will ever happen to you. I promise."_

_Sam looked into the eyes of his hero as sadness filled his chest._

"_Dean, you can't promise me that."_

"_Yeah? Why not Sammy?"_

_Sam shook his head sadly_

"_Because you're just a child too dean. You can't control everything."_

_Dean shifted his hold, placing his hand beneath Sammy's chin and lifting until they were eye to eye. Fierce determination carving his nine year old face, Dean stared straight into his brothers' eyes and spoke with deadly promise…_

"_Yes, Sammy, I can."_

Rain pelted the glass as the impala picked up even more speed. Dean's hands clenched the steering wheel as his long ago promise echoed in his ears.

He had failed….failed!

Faster and faster the wheels turned; faster and faster the memories came…

"_Dean" The cry had barely left the young boys throat before Dean was there; flipping on the light, quickly kneeling down to where Sam had clearly fallen off the bed. Laying his pistol aside, Dean slung an arm around his shoulders, lifting him slightly as he ran a gentle hand through Sam's sweat soaked hair. _

"_Sammy, what happened? What's wrong?" _

_Although the room was spinning sickeningly and his throat felt like it was on fire, Sam felt his body relax at Dean's touch._

"_I don't feel so good Dean" Sammy's voice was frighteningly weak and his face was too pale; Dean felt real fear shiver through his spine and he tightened his arms around the boy._

"_It's okay Sammy, I'm here." Sliding his arm under his knees, he shifted his brothers' weight closer and stood up. Walking to the bathroom he was careful not to bump Sammy's head into anything; at ten, Sammy was all long legs and gangly arms. Shifting and turning, he fit Sam safely through the narrow door before lowering him to sit on the toilet. Sammy looked even sicker under the bright fluorescent light and Dean's stomach clenched hard; he wished his dad were here. Keeping up a steady stream of conversation Dean grabbed the thermometer and placed it under Sammy's tongue;_

"_It's okay Sammy, probably just the chili dog you ate for dinner, ya know? You always say that I'm a bad cook." He flashes a quick grin down at his brother and keeps on talking, trying to sooth the younger boy;_

"_Or maybe it was that girl you kissed at recess today. I told ya you'd get cooties!" Sam didn't even crack a smile and sweat suddenly coated Dean's back. Taking a breath, he swiped the thermometer from Sammy's mouth and held it up to the light to see; Shit! 103.6, shit, shit, shit! Throwing the thermometer down Dean raced to fill the tub, checking the temperature twice before turning to strip his brother down to his boxers. Swallowing hard, he lifted his brother into his arms and stepped into the rapidly filling tub, the water almost cold against his ankles as it seeped through his pajamas. It was going to feel like ice against his brothers skin._

_Whispering a quick "I'm sorry Sammy" Dean tucked him close and sat down in the tub. Sammy screamed hoarsely when the water hit his bare skin; arms and legs thrashing weakly as he tried to get away. Ignoring the tears that filled his eyes at the pitiful sounds his brother was making, Dean held him tighter and talked gently to him; keeping him in the water._

"_It's okay Sammy, shhh; it's going to be okay. We just have to get your fever down alright? It's only for a minute, shhh, its okay Sammy, its okay" and on and on he talked until Sammy stilled in his arms and quit fighting. Dean sat there holding him, ignoring his own shivers, until the heat left Sammy's body. Standing up, he lifted his brother out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel then carried him back into the bedroom. Still in soaking wet pajama bottoms, Dean got Sammy dressed in dry boxers and a fresh t-shirt and tucked him into bed. Taking only a minute to strip and change into dry pants himself, he came back and sat next to his brother, pulling the covers up to Sammy's chin and brushing the damp hair back from his now cool forehead. _

"_Dean?" the voice was soft with sleep_

"_Yeah Sammy?' Dean's voice was just as quiet._

"_Thank you Dean. I knew you'd make me better" A small smile graced his mouth, before he yawned loudly and snuggled deeper into the blankets._

_Dean swallowed the lump that suddenly filled his throat and whispered unsteadily;_

"_It's okay Sammy. I told you, as long as I am around; nothing bad is ever going to happen to you."_

_One eye cracked open to stare at him_

"_I told you Dean, you can't promise me that." The eye closed and with the next breath, the young man was asleep._

_Dean's voice broke the silence; low and rough and filled with resolve;_

"_And I told you, yes I can Sammy."_

Dean's breath whooshed out on a desperate gasp…the memories were fucking tearing him apart. Agony clawed at his chest until he thought for sure he would just blow apart- simply explode into a fiery ball of pain; painting the seats and dash with glops of worthless guts and flesh.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter, pressing the accelerator harder and harder as air tore in and out of his lungs, filling the car with harsh chunks of sound…

Faster…he had to go faster…had to get away from the memories eating him alive…

_Sam's eyes intense in his eight year old face "You're my hero dean."_

_Tears streaking his eleven year old cheeks "I'm glad you're here Dean."_

_A laugh light as sunshine spilling from his fifteen year old lips, "Dude, calm down; airplanes are safer than cars."_

Deans chest muscles convulsed and bile burned the back of his throat…ah God, make it stop! Please…make it stop!

Failed…he had failed so bad! But the images kept coming…

_Tears filling sammy's eyes, "what if I can't be saved Dean?"_

_Misery pressing down on Sam's shoulders, "You have to let me grow up Dean."_

_Sadness painting Sam's face, "Because…you're still my big brother Dean."_

Hyperventilating from the pain crushing him, Dean was blind to the night, blind to the rain, and the road; until suddenly the road wasn't there anymore.

Dean was thrown forward as the tires left the pavement to bounce over grass and rocks. Slamming his foot onto the brake while pulling sharply on the wheel, Dean just managed to avoid plowing head first into the massive tree that loomed in front of him. With a squeal of metal grinding on metal, the impala spun in a complete circle, throwing geysers of dirt and gravel into the air before coming to stop. Dean reached out with shaking hands and turned off the car. Silence closed around him for just a moment…then through the dark a thought whispered into his ear and wrapped around his brain;

Failed….you failed.

You. Failed. Your. Brother.

Unable to take it anymore, Dean scrunched his eyes closed and bowed his head over the steering wheel. The rain had stopped and the night was cold and still; the silence broken only by the keening cries of a broken man.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

** Authors Note: So this is where I have decided to veer away from the television script and kind of do my own thing with season nine. So advanced warning: Castiel does not suffer from having a different angels' grace, Sam and Dean do not go out hunting together, and Dean does not get the mark of Cain. All future chapters are rated M for language, violence, graphic images, and sexual situations. Last, but not least, I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters, those rights belong to Eric Kripke and others. I am just borrowing them for a little bit to write a story for entertainment and not for profit. So, that being said…hope you enjoy. Remember to please review or comment…I can't get better if you don't. Also, if anyone wants to be a beta or a reviewer for me, someone I can bounce ideas off of – let me know.**

* * *

"Wait!" Sam's breathe hitches sharply as he tries to bite back a hiss of pain. "Wait Castiel", blue eyes gaze at him quizzically before the angel slowly lowers his hand; the pulsing white light dims and fades, then disappears. "Just give me a minute, okay?" Sam's voice is hoarse with the effort to speak. With a silent nod, Castiel steps back and takes a seat on the chair next to the bed, dropping his gaze to the floor as he settles in to wait patiently. Sam is grateful for the reprieve. He knows the light, Cas' "grace", is necessary to heal him, but _damn _does it hurt! Desperate for a distraction from the fire throbbing through his body, he shifts his focus to the wall of his room. After a moment the bland gray of the stone gets to him and he turns his head, slowly moving his eyes. A small frown settles between his eyebrows; damn his room was ugly! Well, not so much ugly as _blank. _There was nothing on the walls, nothing on the desk. Turning even more he surveyed everything; there was…..there was…well…nothing - nothing except a bed with a dull colored blanket and a single straight backed chair. What the hell? Even the cheesiest, rundown motels had at least one cheap ass picture on the wall. But he didn't, why hadn't he noticed that before now? With a pang, he remembered a few months back; Dean asking him why he didn't decorate his room and offering to buy him a Hello Kitty welcome mat (the dick). Closing his eyes briefly, Sam also remembers his response…

"Why would I do that?" his voice flat and cold. Deans face had screwed up in confusion…

"Because most people decorate their home, duh!"

And Sam had rounded on him in anger, "this isn't a home Dean! It's a fucking bunker full of books and supernatural bullshit, built by a bunch of long dead librarians!"

He could still see the look of anger that had come over his brothers' face, the way his jaw clenched as he responded, "They were NOT librarians douche bag!"

Sam had just shaken his head at his brother in disbelief, "Whatever Dean. Call them what you want, it doesn't change anything. They're still dead and this is still just a bunker, not a home." And Dean had just shaken it off, and given him a smile.

"Well, it's the closest thing we've got to one double-dork, so just go with it and put up some damn Barbie posters or something will you?" Dean's laugh had filled the empty space of Sam's room with warmth.

Snapping his eyes open, Sam took a breath and sank his teeth into his lower lip, not wanting to think about what he had done next, how much of a dick he had been to his brother. But the memory came anyway:

Laughter was still bubbling in Dean's throat when Sam's words cut through the air, "I don't _have _a home Dean. I've never had one…and I probably never will."

And that was it…all she wrote folks…fade to black and roll the credits…because those words had marked the end: the end of the warmth in the room, the end of Dean's laughter. And as Sam remembered the change that had come over his brother that night; remembered the bright green eyes that had dimmed to dullness as the smile melted away to nothing – he feared that it had also been the end of something more, something worse.

As Sam's words faded into silence, Dean had just stood there, his face a blank mask and shoulders hunched as if under a great weight. Just stood there looking at Sam, and somehow that look had been worse than anything he could have said; because for the first time in Sam's life, his brother had gazed at him in complete and utter defeat.

Tears burned as Sam blinked his eyes, forcing away the memory. God, how could he have done that? Been so _mean_? Just because it was true, didn't mean he had had to say it. He knew how his brother felt, how much Dean hated the years of endless hotel rooms and cheap dives, the hundreds of nights spent sleeping in the car. Blowing out a sharp breath, Sam stared at the wall…sometimes he could be a real asshole. A small cough from across the room brought his attention back to the here and now, and he shifted his look to Castiel. The angel still sat quietly in the chair, staring at Sam with impassive blue eyes, waiting.

"Uh, sorry Cas, was just thinking about stuff. I'm ready when you are." And he shifted once again to the edge of the bed. Cas didn't move, just tilted his head to the side in curiosity,

"What were you thinking about, Sam?" Castiel hoped it was about Dean.

"Uh – nothing, nothing important. Look, let's just get this done if you don't mind. I'm pretty tired and could really use a shower."

"Are you sure it is nothing important?"

Sam opened his mouth, paused, then closed it and just shook his head.

"Yeah, I'm sure." With a small nod Castiel stands in front of him and raises his hand. Sam's harsh breathing and strangled groans are the only sounds as intense white light once again fills the room.

* * *

Barely paying attention to the heat radiating out of his palm, he thinks about what Sam had said…"nothing important". Castiel knows that was a lie, Sam had been thinking about his brother. Dean was many things but unimportant wasn't one of them. As his hands grew hotter and hotter, he thought back over all the years he had known the Winchesters; all the obstacles and trials the two men had overcome. Whether Sam wanted to admit it or not, he needed his brother. And his brother needed him. Each was the only one that could save the other.

* * *

Bracing his arms on the cool tiles of the shower stall, Sam let the hot water cascade over him. The heat slowly penetrated his skin, loosening muscles and allowing him to sigh in relief; damn he hurt! His body throbbed like an entire major league team had used him for batting practice and his knees were shakier than a toddlers taking his first steps. Cas had said that he would need at least three more sessions before he was completely healed and he _so_ wasn't looking forward to those. That light fucking hurt!

"Quit being a bitch and suck it up."

Sam's head whipped up…his brothers voice had seemed so real. He looked around but Dean wasn't there.

Sam had sent him away.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

**Authors Note: I threw this chapter together this morning and I hope you all like it. I am sorry about how long it took me between updates before chapter 5, but from here on out I will try to update twice a week. Thank you to everyone for taking the time to read this and for all the amazing reviews, please keep them coming, I really would appreciate the help. Also, at the end of chapters I will now ask you readers for your opinions and thoughts about which way the story should go and any characters you would like to see, so I hope you lovely people are willing to help me with this. Anyway, here is chapter 6…enjoy.**

* * *

The razor glided over his neck, past the jugular and up the sensitive skin under his chin. Music blared, the beat of guitars and drums writhing and throbbing until the steamy air surrounding him seemed to have a pulse of its own. Hands moved, the sharp blade keeping time with the rhythm of AC/DC's Back in Black.

_Well I'm back...yes I'm back…_

Hands steady on a smooth upward stroke,

_Well I'm b aa ckkk….baa aa aa ck…_

Strong fingers deftly move the blade,

_Yes I'm back in black!_

Intense green eyes inspected the finished product, sweeping over every millimeter of skin, making sure nothing was missed.

With a satisfied grunt, Dean laid down the razor and used a towel to wipe the excess shaving cream off his face and neck. It had been a while since he had put this much effort into shaving, but tonight was special and he wanted to look his best. Had to look his best.

Tonight he was going to get laid. As many times as he could, by as many women as possible.

Stepping back from the sink, Dean dropped the towel from around his waist and inspected his naked body in the full length mirror on the wall. His shoulders were broad but not too bony, sloping gracefully down to his long arms. His biceps were well defined; heavy with muscle and lightly veined, his forearms corded and strong. His chest was sharply contoured; his pectorals chiseled with muscle, his nipples small and sharp. His abdomen was flat and hard; his dick thick and long with a wide head. Turning slightly, he continued his inspection. His legs were long and rock hard; slightly bowed but women didn't seem to mind that. His ass was compact and smooth, tanned and curved and tight enough to bounce a quarter off of. With a small smirk, he turned away from the mirror; yeah, he was _definitely_ getting laid tonight. Walking back into the main area of the small hotel room he grabbed the shopping bags off the end of the bed and pulled out his recent purchases. The dark blue jeans hugged his ass like a lover. Over a soft black t-shirt he layered a dark green button up that made the green of his eyes seem even more intense. Threading his leather belt through the loops at his waist, his palm brushed over the fly of his jeans and a small shiver raced up his spine. Since waking up in the car this morning (with eyes swollen from crying and a headache from sleeping hunched over the steering wheel) and coming to a decision about his future; his body had been in a constant state of low-level arousal. Looking down at his dick he gave it a small smile; "soon buddy, be patient just a little bit longer."

Flipping off the stereo, he laced up his boots and shrugged into his jacket. Stuffing his wallet in his pocket, he grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.

Sliding into the impala he glanced at the empty seat beside him and felt a hollow pain shoot through his stomach. He could almost see his brother sitting there, giving him bitch face number three over his plans for the night, a lecture about safe sex and STD's ready to spill out and bore him to death. God it hurt! Sammy was supposed to be here, supposed to be sitting right there being all uptight and annoying. He wanted his brother to lecture him, to annoy him and piss him off, he wanted it so bad!

"Yeah well, you don't always get what you want, so suck it up and deal with it." Saying the words out loud helped him get a grip. Clenching his fingers on the steering wheel he tore his gaze away from the seat that would never again be occupied by his brother.

Time to stop living in the past and get on with it. He had made his decision already; he had given himself one week. One week to enjoy everything and do all the shit he wanted to do. One week before he started his mission; the mission that when complete would make up for some of his endless mistakes, wash some of the stains from his nearly black soul, and hopefully let him die without the load of guilt that tried to drown him every day.

Seven days, that was all he had…one week.

So why was he wasting it, sitting in a parking lot acting like a girl, crying over shit he couldn't have? Jesus, he was an idiot! Shaking his head, he shut the door and turned the key. As the motor roared to life beneath him he gave himself a wink in the rearview mirror and pulled out of the motel parking lot. Turning left he headed towards town, on a hunt for the most extreme clubs the city had to offer. Rolling down the window, he pushed in the Led Zepplin tape and cranked the volume.

Sitting back he felt the tension ease from his body as the wind whipped through his hair and the music thrummed through his veins. Giving a sigh of contentment he pressed down harder on the accelerator, picking up speed.

He was ready for some action.

* * *

A/N: the song used is Back in Black by AC/DC...if you haven't heard it you should go listen to it, it is great.

thank you to all reviewers, if I didn't respond before it was only because of a rush of time, not because I don't value them. I do.

So to Tiara Peterson: thank you so much for all of your encouragement, and I am sorry for all the sad…there is more happy to come I promise, so hang in there with me please.

To Deans Dirty little Secret: thank you kindly, glad you liked it and hope I can continue to please.

To LJacks121: thank you for reading, and there is definitely more to come. Hope you will continue to like it.

To Flygirl33: thank you for the kind words, am glad you liked it and hope you continue to do so.

So question for all: do we want any Destiel in this story? Write and tell me what you think…just friends, unacknowledged attraction or love, or full blown Destiel? It is all up to you guys so let me know please. Also, if there are any characters anybody is wanting to see just let me know. Thanks.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**The Bunker:**

"Here Sam, eat these." Castiel slid a plate bearing two sandwiches onto the table, scooting it closer until it rested just next to the edge of the book that Sam was reading.

"Sure Cas, in a minute." He replied without lifting his eyes. Unaware of the frown that marred his forehead or the pallor of his face, he scanned the pages in growing

frustration; _damn it, where was it?_

"What are you looking for?" After a solid minute with no answer, Castiel tried again, "Do you want help finding something?" Still no answer. With a sigh, he gave up and

pulled out a chair across from the silent reader. Sitting quietly, Castiel took the opportunity to study the man opposite him. Although it was hard to tell for sure with that book

hiding half of his face, Castiel thought that Sam looked better than he had yesterday. Although he was still quite pale, the brackets of pain had disappeared and the sickly

sheen of green was gone from his skin. Moving his gaze down, his eyes landed on long fingers wrapped around hard binding and Castiel remembered the first time he had

met Sam…

**_There was no hesitation in the man as he stepped forward and held out his hand in greeting. Castiel stared at that hand in consternation; he did not want to_**

**take it, did not want to touch any part of the man tainted with demon blood. He drew up his shoulders, ready to step away from the abomination before**

**him, when he happened to look upon the man's face. Never had he seen such longing; the man's eyes were straightforward and clear- there was no evil in**

**them. Castiel took a step closer and looked harder, looked all the way to the soul. In that moment, he saw the struggle within the young man…the**

**overwhelming desire to do good and the constant battle to ignore the darkness that pulled from within. In that moment Castiel was humbled by the**

**strength of will the young man possessed; it was not easy to turn away from evil once it has claimed you for its own. Castiel stared into the man's eyes as**

**he reached out and took the offered hand, shaking it once before placing his free hand over the top of their clasped fingers.**

**"_It is nice to meet you Sam"_**

That had been years ago, and as Castiel continued to study the man sitting before him he thought over all the choices Sam had made in those years; all the times he had run

away or turned his back on those who needed him. He thought of the mistakes also; the deal with Ruby, the drinking of demon blood, setting Lucifer free. So many mistakes

Sam had made, so much pain he had caused.

Staring at the head bent in concentration, Castiel also thought of the _other_ choices Sam had made in those years; trying to trade his soul for his brother, throwing himself

into the pit to trap Lucifer, taking on the physical agony of the trials to try and close the gates of hell. So many sacrifices Sam had made, so many lives he had saved.

Castiel thought about it all and nodded his head to himself in satisfaction; shaking that hand had been a _**very**_ good decision.

Smiling slightly he tapped his fingers on the table,

"Sam, hey…" Hazel eyes looked up in question. "Eat. You need to keep your strength up." And he nudged the plate closer.

Peering over his book, Sam stared at the food in puzzlement, before flushing in embarrassment. Flashing a small smile, he shrugged and put his book aside.

"Sorry Cas, guess I wasn't paying attention" Sliding the plate in front of him he picked up the first sandwich and took a bite.

"It is a good thing that my vessel is not female then or I believe that would have hurt my feelings."

Castiel sat with a small smirk as Sam choked, slapping a hand over his mouth so as not to cough food onto the table.

"Wow Cas, really?" when he could talk again, "Where did that come from?"

"I believe that it is acknowledged that human females suffer from excess emotions and are prone to anger when they feel they are being ignored."

Sam huffed out a laugh and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and staring sternly at the Angel across from him.

"Oh really…and where exactly did you learn _that _Cas?" it was hard to keep his face straight with the laughter tearing at his throat, but Sam managed it.

Barely.

Castiel couldn't do it; a huge smile split his face as he replied

"From watching your soap opera's" Deep, gravely laughter bubbled out into the room as Sam's look transformed into Bitch-Face number five.

"They are _**shows **_Cas, _**not **_soap operas!" came the huffy reply. Castiel laughed harder.

"Whatever you say Sam"

After a moment of silence and another prissy look, Sam picked up his sandwich and took another bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he suddenly swallowed at gave him a look of

pure glee.

Castiel did not trust that look,

"What" he asked cautiously.

"You're talking about soap operas and you cooked me dinner"

He raised a single eyebrow in question, not liking where this was going, "and?"

"Dude…you're a girl!"

Castiel's smile died as Sam's laughter burst forth.

"Shut up Sam."

Sam flipped him a wink and resumed eating.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

Authors Note: This chapter contains explicit sex scenes,(man on woman - no gay) so heads up.

* * *

Music pounded and lights flashed as bodies withered and gyrated. The air was heavy with sweat and lust and Dean took a deep breath, inhaling the steamy aroma as his eyes

scanned the dance floor. He could feel the bass vibrating his body; sinking through muscle and sinew until the beat coursed through his veins and pulsed in his very bones.

The rhythm was hard and dirty; the rhythm of sex, and he knew it well. Leaning back against the bar he took a drink of his beer and continued to search the menu of flesh

before him.

The crowd shifted slightly and there she was; his first partner of the evening. Long legs that curved down into three inch heels and a round ass barely covered by a black

skirt; Dean's dick was suddenly, fiercely, awake and begging for attention. Attention it was going to get.

Locking eyes with the lithe blonde, he set his beer down on the counter behind him and started forward. Ignoring the man plastered to her back, her eyes traced down Deans

body and back up, before once again meeting his stare. A slow smile graced her full lips as she sent him a wink.

Coming to a stop in front of her he returned the favor; running his gaze down her body like a caress before bringing his attention back to her face. His eyes were savage,

glittering with heat, giving her the hottest eye fuck she had ever seen.

Dean saw the shiver that wracked her body and his arousal spiked; sweat sheening his back as his balls grew heavy and tight. Saying nothing he reached out and wrapped

his hands around her hips; without even a glance at the guy, he pulled her away from her partner and drew her forward into his body. He waited a moment to see if she

would protest his actions. When she didn't say a word, he turned her around and brought her closer. Bending slightly he slid his arms around her waist and slowly moved his

hips; pressing her close and starting to grind against her in time to the music. Without hesitation she followed his movements, ass pressed tight to his errection, shoulders

swaying and rubbing against his chest.

Dean smiled and pulled her closer.

* * *

Closing the book in frustration, Sam threw it on the table and leaned back in his chair. It was the silence; the bunker was too damn quiet and he just couldn't concentrate.

Castiel had vanished hours ago, saying something about needing to "check on things" before disappearing in a rustle of feathers. He knew what "things" the angel was talking

about; Cas had gone to check on Dean. It had only been a day but apparently that was too long for the holy tax accountant to go without his seeing his best buddy.

Considering the "profound bond" the two shared, Sam was surprised he hadn't vanished sooner. Whatever, it's not like he gave a shit one way or another. Let them have

their bond, he didn't need the angel _or _his brother. He was a big boy; doing just fine on his own.

If only it wasn't so _quiet_ here.

Jumping up from the chair he made his way into the kitchen for a soda. Opening the fridge he looked inside; there on the top shelf were six dark brown bottles of beer. He

froze…

**"_Making a beer run Sammy, want anything?"_**

Six round bottles, lined up all nice and neat.

**"_You going to the store Sammy? Don't forget the beer…and bring me some pie!"_**

He looked but there was no pie. He must have forgotten it.

Somehow, the inanimate tubes of glass looked lonely; abandoned.

With a harsh curse he slammed the fridge and went in search of the whiskey. Fucking cheap assed beer tasted like shit anyway.

* * *

Shirt plastered to his chest, sweat dropping down his back, Dean tightened his grip and rolled his hips harder. The dancer in front of him groaned deeply and returned the

pressure. Without missing a beat, he slid his palm from her hip, up across her belly, and cupped her breast. Bowing his back, he brought his mouth to her ear and bit gently.

Shudders coursed through her body and Dean had had enough. Spinning her around, he grabbed her hand and hauled her off the dance floor, heading straight for the

bathrooms. She followed without a word. Entering the ladies room, he checked the stalls to make sure they were empty, then slammed the door and twisted the lock. Turning

to the girl he let his eyes slowly trace her body; high, round breasts heaving with every breath, curved thighs trembling with arousal, and dainty fingers moving up her belly

to unbutton her blouse. With a growl he reached out and took over the job, quickly ridding her of both shirt and bra. He didn't take the time to get rid of the skirt, just

pushed it aside as he lifted her and pinned her against the door. Leaning forward, he held her in place with the weight of his chest as he reached down to open his zipper.

_**Goddamnshitfuck**, _he fumbled with the stubborn denim; he was so hard his dick probably had the imprint of his entire zipper. The button finally popped free and metal

teeth opened and lowered. His cock sprang free and with a grunt of relief he shifted his hold on the girl. Hoisting her higher, he lined himself up with her entrance and slowly

brought her down, impaling her on his rigid flesh. A breathy moan escaped her throat at the feel of him inside her. Gripping her thighs, he wrapped her legs tighter around

his waist and started to move.

It was fast and brutal, and so damn hot he thought he would burn alive. Her hard nipples scored his chest as he thrust into her over and over; ruthlessly driving toward

completion. The room filled with the stark sound of flesh slapping against flesh as he pounded into her wet softness, and Dean groaned in ecstasy. Sweat rolled down his

spine as the heat gathered, pooling in his belly. Two more rough thrusts and the girl exploded, inner muscles contracting, clenching hard around his dick, and that was it for

him. Dropping his head back, he pushed deeper as his release boiled up and out; nerves screaming as his cock jerked, flooding her with semen.

After a moment, his body relaxed and he leaned back, disengaging from the girl and letting her slide down until her feet touched the door. When she was steady enough, he

stepped back, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up.

"You okay?" his voice seemed overly loud in the small room.

"Mmmm" giving him a satisfied smile she grabbed some paper towels from the holder and went to the sink. He watched silently as she cleaned herself up and lowered her

skirt back into place before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

"Hey" She turned back to him, raising a brow in question, and he felt like an idiot.

"Um…I never got your name" and damned if that wasn't one of the weirdest things he had ever said.

After a beat of silence a genuine grin slid across her face and she sent him a playful wink,

"Thanks for the dance cowboy." And she was gone, door closing softly behind her.

He smiled to himself, this night was looking better and better. After washing his face, he shook his head and headed back out to the bar…

And to think, he used to hate dancing.

* * *

Tilting his head back to empty the glass, Sam let the warm liquid slide down his throat, moaning in satisfaction at the smooth burn. God whiskey taste so _good_! Humming

softly, he lifted the bottle to refill his glass; staring stupidly when nothing came out.

**_Empty? When the fuck did that happen?_**

Lifting his bleary eyes, he gazed around suspiciously,

**_Who the fuck drank all my whiskey? _**but the room was empty. Whatever, there was another bottle on the cabinet. Instead of making his way over there, he leaned back

in his chair and let his head fall to his chest. What the hell was he doing? He had started drinking the whiskey because he had felt like shit and had thought it would help.

Now the whiskey was gone, he felt like even bigger shit, and he really, really had to pee. He stood up abruptly,

**_Fuckingshitfuck! _**The room was spinning like a damn merry-go-round and the bathroom door had somehow moved to _fucking Pluto!_

He dropped back down onto the chair and lowered his head into his hands, maybe he didn't have to pee after all. He gave it a minute, but nope, he really did, so he heaved a

sigh and stood back up. Or tried to anyway. Somehow the floor was stretched out on him, and the cool really did feel pretty good against his cheek. He'd go the bathroom in

a second; but first he'd wait here for a moment. Just for a moment.

His eyes closed as his body relaxed and his mind drifted fuzzily,

**_Wonder what Dean is doing…._**

A small chuckle reverberated off the floor,

**_Probably sitting in some shitty hotel room getting drunk._**

The laughter died in his throat, he really did miss his brother.

_**When Dean came back to apologize and beg his forgiveness, maybe he should listen.** _

Dean probably missed him too.

**_Maybe he should forgive him._**

Sam sniffed and rubbed his cheek into the floor; hmmm, it was so _soft_!

A second later loud snores split the silence of the bunker. 

* * *

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review and let me know. I will update again this weekend, but the more reviews I get the faster I am motivated to update! Take care everyone.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Dean awoke slowly; enjoying the softness of the mattress beneath him. Letting his arms slide over the cool sheets he stretched languidly; damn his body was sore! Thinking

of the blonde from the night before he grinned; he had definitely overworked a few muscles last night. Last night…that meant that this was day two. Only five more days left.

Suddenly energized, he rolled out of bed and hurried to the shower. He had places to go and things to do. Water beat down on his back, the heat sinking deep and loosening

muscles. The shampoo had been expensive but it produced a thick lather as he scrubbed it through his hair. What the hell, it wasn't like he needed to save for the future or

anything; he didn't have one. Closing his eyes he rinsed the suds away, shut off the water and reached for the towel.

He didn't take as much time getting dressed as he did last night, he didn't have anyone to impress; today was all about him. His body was relaxed, his dick was sated, and he

had a list; a bucket list of sorts. He laughed ruefully, _who woulda thought he'd ever have one of those?_

Sitting at the small table by the window, he took a moment to stare out at the nearly empty hotel parking lot at his baby; sitting alone it was a square of black beauty

gleaming brightly in a sea of dull grey concrete. Giving his faithful lady a quick smile, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Unfolding the single sheet of notebook

paper, he smoothed it out across the flat table top and read the list again.

1. Get laid. A LOT!

2. Burger joint in Pontiac.

3. Mountain to watch stars

4. Write letters to Castiel and Sam.

5. Go home.

Reaching out, he picked up the pen and slowly, carefully drew a single line through the first item.

Shoving the paper back into his pocket, he dropped the room key on the desk for the maid to find, shouldered his bag and headed out.

One down, four to go.

* * *

His head hurt….his bed was too hard….and he was _cold! _

Ignoring the nausea that filled his stomach and the drummer that was trying to break out of his skull, Sam forced his eyes open.

_What the…_jerking his head up, he froze, eyes closing at the vise of pain that gripped him.

_Ow shit shit…okay, moving = bad idea._

Swallowing the vomit that suddenly burned his throat, he kept himself perfectly still as he once again opened his eyes.

He was on the floor, in the bunker. _All right…so he knew where he was (bunker) and what he was doing (lying on the floor) …so far so good, everything was okay._

_Wait, WTF? Why was he lying on the floor?_

Moving his eyes around the room, he spotted the empty whiskey bottle on the table…oh yeah.

Rolling slightly he forced himself into a sitting position, groaning at the agony that came with movement, why had he drank so much? Taking several deep breathes he finally

managed to get to his feet without puking and started shuffling towards the bathroom.

It felt like it was the first time he had peed in a week and was he immeasurably grateful he hadn't ended up pissing his pants last night, Dean would've never let him live that

down.

**_Dean wasn't here._**

He swallowed at the thought and viciously turned on the cold water tap, ignoring the stab in his chest; he didn't care damn it, he didn't!

He groaned in pleasure as the cool water splashed over his face, washing away sweat and grit and probably dried drool too. Dean always said he was a sloppy drunk.

Turning off the water, he slammed his mind closed on thoughts of his brother and grabbed a towel to dry off; he moved too fast. Spinning around, he dropped to his knees

just in time, holding on tightly to the edge of the toilet as what felt like the entire bottle of whiskey and half of his stomach lining came spewing out of his mouth. Throat

burning, eyes watering he finally quit heaving and shakily reached out to flush the toilet. Leaning his forehead head against the cold porcelain, he closed his eyes.

Hangovers were such a bitch!

* * *

Wind rushed in the open window, warm as it fanned over his face and through his hair. Eyes squinted slightly against the sun, Dean sprawled back in the driver's seat, body

lose and relaxed as the impala ate up the miles. He had been driving for hours, crossing freeways and highways beneath a heaven of cloudless blue, and now Pontiac was

less than a hundred miles away. Warmth spread through his soul and he tipped his head back, laughing out loud; God it was a _great_ day to be alive! Hey wait, weren't those

the words to some song or shit? His brow furrowed in concentration before abruptly clearing; oh yeah, it was some caterwauling country song Sammy had fallen in love with

a couple years back. He remembered now….

_He was going to die and not by some rabid werewolf or blood sucking vetala either; he wasn't that lucky. No Dean's death was going to come from his own hands, because he s  
wore to God, if Sammy played that song **one more time**, he was going to stop the car, pull the keys from the ignition, and use them to stab himself to death! He was a_

strong man, but a person can only take so much torture. His head throbbed as Sammy threw back his head and sang along with the song playing, yet again, on his I-pod;

_"**And it's a great day to be alive, I know the suns still shining when I close my eyes!"**_

_Dean clenched his jaw…his jackass of a brother sang like shit…he also sang loud._

_"**There's some hard times in the neighborhood, but why can't everyday be just this good"**_

_The fucking song lied, it was **not** a good day! If only Sam would shut up! Please, please let him shut up! But no, Sammy just sat there in the passenger seat, big shit eating_

grin plastered on his face, and took a deep breath, ready to belt out another verse. Dean swerved off the road and slammed on his brakes.

_"Dean? What's wro…" Sammy's voice died as Dean slowly turned and gave him the death glare._

_"Listen Willie Nelson, if you play that song one more time, not only will I put Nair in your shampoo again, but I will also program your computer to play Britney Spears every_

time you log on, got it?"

_Sam swallowed and shut off his I-pod before giving Dean his bitch face. Without a word, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, pouting. After a moment of blessed_

silence, he steered the car back onto the road and resumed the long drive.

_Now it was a good day!_

The warmth slowly drained from his chest at the memory; the day was beautiful but quiet. What a difference time makes. He would give just about anything to have Sammy

here right now, riding beside him, singing in his extremely loud and off-key voice. Smiling and singing along to his obnoxious fucking music.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. All joy in the drive had vanished; it was too quiet.

* * *

The four aspirin he swallowed didn't work, the dry toast he forced himself to eat didn't work, and the bag of frozen tater-tots he plastered to his face didn't work. Sam's head

still throbbed viciously, only now the pain was accompanied by a queasy stomach and constant shivers. Moaning quietly, he curled up on his bed in misery. He could feel the

light from the lamp burning into his closed lids…_why hadn't he turned it off? Oh yeah…because the switch was by the door and the door was like __**five miles away!**_ He

reached out blindly, sighing with relief when he found his pillow and laid it over his head; _ahhh, blessed darkness! _

He couldn't sleep through the pain; even his eyelashes hurt, but when he stayed really still the nausea didn't choke him; he stayed still. After a while the pain lessened and

he felt his mind start to drift….the last time his head had hurt this bad was back in ninth grade when the senior quarterback had thought that pushing Sam down the stairs

was hilarious; he had _not_ been laughing the next day. A smile curled Sam's lips as he remembered…

"_Where is he?" Even through the closed door Sam could hear the anger in his brother's voice and the tension eased out of his body at the sound; everything would be okay_

now, Dean was here. A second later the door crashed open as his brother stormed onto the room, all but mowing down the poor secretary trying to stop him.

"_Hey, you can't go in there…" her eyes widened comically when Dean spun around and slammed the door in her face, leaving the non-pulsed nurse speechless. _

"_Hey Dean" he greeted tiredly, staying laid down on the nurses table; he hurt too bad to sit up. Dean didn't say a word, just stood there staring, taking in the bruises and_

lacerations that marked his face and bare chest. The air thickened, became ice cold and heavy, as rage swelled up through his brothers body and crashed out of his eyes;

_drowning the small room in a tidal wave of silent fury._

"_Who did it?" Even Dean's voice was angry; the tone low and deadly, sending a shiver through the quiet nurse. Sam closed his eyes and sighed_

"_It doesn't matter man, its over. I just want to go home" a sharp stab of pain shot through his side when he tried to sit up and Dean was there in an instant; sliding an arm_

around his shoulders and lifting him into a sitting position. The ride had been a nightmare, every tiny bump in the road causing fresh spikes of pain and Dean trying hard not

to hurt him; he drove so slowly the old woman whose head was barely taller than the steering wheel flipped him the bird as she was passing them. By the time they got back

to the hotel Sam was ready to strangle him. After his brother wrapped up his ribs he was parked on the bed and watched like a hawk.

_For the next three days all meals were brought to him, the remote was placed in his hand, and his books were set within reach on the nightstand; he was allowed to pee on_

his own though and Sam was eternally grateful for that privilege. When Dean was in protective mode he wasn't exactly rational. By the fourth day he had finally convinced his

brother to let him return to school; he should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Not only did Dean pay some chick to carry his backpack for him until his ribs healed; he

paid an

_**annoying**__ chick. Some girl named Becky who couldn't seem to quit touching him. She had a mouth full of braces, a squeaky voice, and she never shut up. He was a_

little afraid of her and tried to hide, but she was like a freaking blood hound, every time he turned around she was there-running her creepy hands up his chest or over his

arms. By the time lunch rolled around, he was thoroughly sick to his stomach and wanted nothing more than to go home and shower in bleach.

_Creepy stalker-girl in tow, he headed to the cafeteria, visions of murder strong in his mind. Entering the large room his eyes instantly found his brother; Dean had his arm_

slung around the shoulder of a certain senior quarterback, the two looking like the best of friends as they walked to the exit. Oh shit…this was so not good! Breaking away

from the hands that were busy feeling him up, he ran to the exit; bursting outside in time to see the pair disappearing around the corner, heading towards the parking lot. He

caught up with them as they came to a halt beside the impala. Taking in the hardness of his brothers' jaw and the paleness of the football player's face, he stayed silent;

watching as Dean finally let go of the pressure point in the kids shoulder so he could unlock and open the car doors. The day was warm, clear, and a light sheen of sweat

coated his face as he slid into the back seat and closed the door. The bully's breathing was harsh, then harsher when Dean got in to the driver's seat; the small space filled

with the acrid sound of his fear. Sam almost felt sorry for the kid.

_Saying nothing, he watched as his brother reached back and casually pulled out his hunting knife, holding it up in the light. Jock boy let out a girly little squeak, and lurched_

back in his seat, eyes glued to the weapon. Dean kept his gaze on the cold steel as he spoke quietly…

"_Sammy's my brother and it's my job to look out for him" twirling it until the sun winked off the blade, he waited a second and then set in on the dash. Reaching across, he_

opened the glove box and pulled out his Beretta. Before the kid could blink, the barrel was pressed to his temple as arctic green eyes bored into him…

"_And I'm__** very**__ good at my job." Sam shivered at the deadly promise in Dean's voice. The sound of a bladder releasing was loud within the confines of the car as the sharp_

stink of urine filled the space; his brother didn't even blink.

"_Are we going to have to talk about this again?"_

_The kid shook his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash and Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing._

"_If you or any of your buddies ever touch my brother again, I will come back, but not to talk. Understand?" at the boys frantic nod, Dean leaned over and opened the door,_

shoving the stinking, sniveling quarterback out onto the concrete. The kid rolled to his feet and took off running, diving into his car and roaring out of the parking lot. Sam's

brow arched in amusement,

"_I'm very good at my job? Really Dean?" _

_His brother threw him a grin as he put the gun back in the glove box._

"_Told you I'd take care of you Sammy, I promised." Sam just smiled as he stared at the blonde before him; he was so damn lucky to have Dean as a brother._

_Laughing green eyes suddenly met his "But you're cleaning that up!" as he pointed at the wet seat. _

_His smile vanished and he opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was already gone; strolling across the lot, whistling as he headed back to the cafeteria. With a grimace of_

disgust he headed got out of the car and headed onside to find some paper towels.

Head still hidden by the pillow, his small smile slowly faded as those long ago words echoed in his mind; "Told you I'd take care of you Sammy, I promised."

Dean had only been a child when he first made that promise but he had kept it; had spent his entire life keeping it.

"_**Just go. I'm not going to stop you."**_

His own words from days ago played in his ears as he swallowed the vomit that suddenly filled his throat. Under the pillow a single tear rolled down his cheek.

* * *

AN: The song used is "Great Day to be Alive" by Travis Tritt.

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think of the chapter.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

A.N: I am using a Metallica song called "Wherever I May Roam" throughput this chapter. I'm using it because it really fits with this chapter and because it is a great song. Hope you like it.

* * *

Black glistened, chrome flashed, and tires spun as the impala flew down the empty highway, eating up the miles. Music blared out of the windows, projecting waves of

sound over fields and trees as Dean drove through the vacant countryside.

_**and the road becomes my **__**bride**__**..  
I have stripped of all but **__**pride**__**…  
So in her I do **__**confide**__**…**_

Arm resting on the ledge of the open window, Dean let the words flow over him. Metallica was the perfect companion for this trip; drowning out the crushing silence and

singing him through the miles, saying for him what he could never say for himself…

_**...and with dust in throat I crave  
only knowledge will I **__**save**__**…  
To the game you stay a **__**slave**__**….**_

It was more grief than dust that filled his throat, but hey, no lyrics were perfect. Cravings though, _oh Jesus, _did he ever have those! He craved his mom with her crust-

less sandwiches, his dad with his emotional constipation, Castiel with his non-existent social skills. And he craved Sammy- his _**brother-**_with his puppy dog eyes, and his

bitch face, and his damn rabbit food…he craved it all, his fucking _**life**_! So many cravings that filled him up, hollowed him out, and left his heart feeling like the passing

scenery; isolated, barren and void of all humanity. All of those things were gone, _every one of_ them was gone. It was just him now.

The music played on;

_**Rover **__**wanderer**__**…  
Nomad **__**vagabond**__**…  
Call me what you **__**will**__**…**_

Them being gone didn't stop him from missing them though. Which was why he was currently driving this fucking backwater road, why he was taking this last road trip;

because he missed them, wanted to feel close to them, one last time.

For once he was going to get what he wanted and to hell with everything else. His phone was laying in pieces about three states back, his first of four stops was about a

hundred miles ahead, and he had five more days. He blew out a breath and turned the music up.

_**Off the beaten path I **__**reign**__**…  
but I'll take my time **__**anywhere**__**…  
Free to speak my mind **__**anywhere**__**...**_

He sang along loudly, the tension draining from his body to fly out the window with the words; he _was _free. For the next five days he wasn't responsible for jack shit, his

only obligation to himself. It was a gift he fully intended to enjoy…_freedom_

He sang louder, smiling.

… _**I'll take my time anywhere  
Free to speak my **__**mind**__**…  
And I'll take my time **__**anywhere**__**…  
…anywhere I may **__**roam**__**.**_

* * *

**The ****Bunker**

Sam's fingers flew over the keyboard, digging up information, revealing a pattern. _Finally__!_ A case. Gathering up the last of the copies from the printer, he took them to

the table, laying them out next to the ones already there. Taking a step back he slowly looked them over; double checking the pattern, confirming his suspicions. He

was right, it was definitely a vengeful spirit. He closed his eyes and prayed…

"Castiel, I'm going on a hunt…uh..if you want to go with me…maybe?"

_Wow, do I sound like an idiot!_

A quiet rustle of wings and Castiel stood opposite him. The angel took his time looking over the table at the news articles and highlighted police reports before lifting his

gaze to him. His head tilted quizzically,

"What is all this?"

He could feel the excitement of having something to do, of being _useful, _start to flow through him as he explained.

"I found us a case, look." As he picked up a few of the papers and held them out to the angel.

Ignoring the offered papers, Castiel continued to stare at him, and really, how creepy was _that_?

Sam's hand dropped back to his side and he found himself taking a step back self-consciously.

"Umm, I know it's just a simple salt-n-burn, but I thought, you know, that you might want to ride along. If you were bored or something."

_When did being around Cas get so awkward?_

"Why are you doing this?"

That should be obvious, and his tone said as much when he answered the angel's stupid question,

"Wellll because I'm a hunter, and… _this_ (air quote) is my job."

Castiel's head straightened as he drew himself up, planting his feet solidly and drilling Sam with an icy blue stare. Annoyance radiated off the angel in waves.

"I mean, why are you doing this _**now**_?"

Exasperation shot through him at the unwarranted attitude, and he felt himself getting angry in return.

"What the hell Cas? People are getting hurt, why wouldn't I do this now?"

"Because there are more important things to focus on right now Sam."

"Like what?" He fairly shouted

"Like Dean!" Castiel shouted back "You remember him, right? The brother you sent away?"

He froze at the words, all anger gone; confusion taking its place.

"What about him?"

"Don't you think it would be better to look for him, instead of chasing after some ghost?"

"Why would I do that?"

Castiel's fist slammed down on the table, sending papers flying in every direction

"Because he is your _**brother**_ Sam!"

Rage slithered up his legs, vibrated through his chest, and spilled out his mouth

"You don't have to tell me that Cas, I know what the fuck he is!"

_What the fuck was the angel's problem anyway?_

"Do you Sam, do you really know what he is? Because I honestly don't think you have a clue."

_That_ pissed him off.

"Fuck you Cas! He's _my_ brother and, yeah, I know him; better than anyone else. Better than you."

Castiel stepped closer and looked him straight in the eye,

"Are you sure about that?"

* * *

Authors Note: Sorry about the cliff hanger but a lot of stuff is about to happen and this was the best place to split it. Next chapter will be up Friday, so I hope you all will

come back for more. Let me know what you think of how it's all going. I am always grateful for ideas, suggestions, and feedback.


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